Nobody listens anymore. I can’t talk to the walls because they’re yelling at me, I can’t talk to my wife; she listens to the walls. I just want someone to hear what I have to say. And maybe if I talk long enough it’ll make sense. And I want you to teach me to understand what I read.
Willy Ronis, Venise Fondamenta Nueva,, 1959
Lev Borodulin, Dangerous Crossing, 1956, printed before 1973
“What I am looking for… is an immobile movement, something which would be the equivalent of what is called the eloquence of silence, or what St. John of the Cross, I think it was, described with the term mute music.” — Joan Miro
Yousuf Karsh, Pablo Casals, 1954 (Karsh, p. 163)
Willy Ronis, La Péniche aux enfants, Paris, 1959, printed 1985 [mon paris (paris: denoël, 1985), plate 24]
Bertrand Fleuret — via & more — site
[you can download the whole .pdf file]
“I am alone. Walking at random. Wandering, as if at random,...
Peter Upward.
August Strindberg.
From The Lodger, Alfred Hitchcock, 1927.